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Canterbury Tales
Introduction by Madmaxhammer This is for any short story, relative to the time we have to share. In honor of Chaucer who wrote the original book, while on a pilgrimage. he asked the group he travelled with to share their stories to pass the time as they travelled. He wrote them down, but sadly died while on the pilgrimage. These will be our Tales. Give yourselves a name, as in a job ( baker, soldier, militiaman) or a type of person ( Optimist, Loyalist, Drunkard) and make a story. There is no need for a moral, can be of any length, and pertaining to our jobs and time. Look forward to seeing anything creative. Madmaxhammer: The Carpenter's Tale The scout laid propped on two branches of a tree. His body inclined in such a way to support his weight on the branches and to make him as comfortable as possible. His ease was apparent, the lightweight scout was easily asleep, his bow hung from a thin rope, several feet below him. His breathing was even, arms stretched behind his head, his light brown hair covering his eyes, blocking the loathsome sun, which gave him difficulties in napping. His reverie was short lived. A scream rent the air, female for sure, the scout's eye jutted open, scanning the horizon, seeing nothing but the hills. he was at the border of the forest, trees behind him, soft round hills in front of him. Seeing nothing, his eyes drifted back to sleep, without a care. he was imagining things. The scream repeated itself. Directly ahead... the scout opened his eyes again and caught the sight of a woman being chased by three barbarians, whose tribal markings he could not see, nor recognize. The woman was easily spotted for she wore a bright yellow something he thought was a dress, not fit for running at high speeds, against grassy hills she stood out rather well. He muttered to himself before yanking the rope tied to his waist, his bow flying up to his hand. he fitted an arrow to the string and let fly towards the ruffians. he watched the arrow sail, and finally after a few seconds, land into one man's leg, sending the man tumbling to the ground. :Slight breeze to the north, he muttered, taking another arrow to his string. :Damn you woman, this time louder,Don't run towards me. The fleeing woman saw over her shoulder what had happened and began to run towards her savior, but in the same time, lined up the two remaining men behind her. It offered the scout no clear shot. The scout shrugged, he wasn't moving from his spot. he watched the brigands slowly gain ground as the group disappeared down a small hill. His bow fully drawn and ready to fire, he let the yellow blur of arms and legs reach the top in his view and begin descending. Then he fired. the arrow sizzled over her shoulder, causing her to fall and tumble down the hill. The arrow continued and caught the approaching man in the chest, just as he reached the top of the hill, he fell directly back, into his comrade. The scout drew another arrow and waited. The girl rose up from the depths of the valley between hills and towards him again. The last man had retreated down the hill on the to her side and began slinking away. Unconcerned, the scout dropped his bow, replaced his arrow and closed his eagle eyes once more to rest. He took one deep sigh and soon began to drift back to sleep. :Thank you, thank you, thank you, An excited female voice rose, disturbing the man once again. " it was you, wasn't it?" The voice brought the tired man to his senses once again. He glanced at the yellow dressed woman no older than 20 years old, and sighed that there was going to be no afternoon nap for him. he nodded once, hoping she would leave, and closed his eyes again. :What the hell were you doing in those hills? he finally muttered. The girl looked shocked at his answer, though he never saw it. And you're welcome. The girl was speechless for a long time, half a mind to storm off and half a mind to be polite to the person that saved her life. :I was.. picking flowers, she admitted sheepishly. I know, she ran her fingers through her black hair, it is silly of me to do such childish things. She finally began to breathe normal again The archer scoffed. Picking posies in those hills rife with barbarians. :You've lost your gourd. Go on home to daddy. Unperturbed at the archer's attitude, she continued, They were for my father, his grave at least. She snapped the last words, fighting his bile with some of her own, but she soon calmed down. :Well... what is left of them. She carried a basket, that had become wrecked in the tumble down the hill. From it she produced one single daisy. She offered it to the archer. Here, it is all I have, but I do thank you. The archer opened his eyes and looked into hers. he took the preoffered flower, smelled it once and tucked it behind his ear. his sarcasm disappeared for the briefest bit, and his thin lips cracked a smile. :Thank you, he said. Your father would be proud of you. A trip in his honor, has become an honor to me. The girl smiled widely, and watched the eyes of the scout slowly close once again, as his body reclined in the tree. :Have a good rest now, she spoke to him and turned to leave. I'll see you again, she added silently while beginning to look for more flowers. No real moral... maybe... if you are going to interrupt my nap, it better be really important. or maybe it takes the little things to break a big attitude. Caprisian:The Alchemist's Apprentice's Tale Gripping the flask tightly in his hand, the apprentice glanced quickly around for any sign of his master before creeping over to the large pot simmering over the coals. Dipping a small portion of the thick orange liquid into a bowl, he slid over to the table and carefully placed all that he carried down. His master would have been proud, the neatness with which he laid his ingredients, had his master approved of such things as merely tossing potions together to see what happened. Of course, nothing had ever gone wrong before, so why should it now? Gently, the apprentice pulled the stopper from his flask. The potion inside was a soft purple with almost a sparkle, and smelled of the morning glories that opened with the sunrise. He slowly tipped it forward, letting the liquid slide into the bowl. Purple mixed with orange, but not easily, almost seeming to fight the combination as the mixture began to bubble softly and turn dark blue. Surprised, the apprentice hurriedly tossed in some of his master's salt powder, thinking to slow the reaction, but instead it turned black, began to boil faster, and poured a yellow, foul-smelling smoke. Realizing that his mistake had gone horribly wrong, he quickly grabbed the bowl and, before it burned his fingers, tossed it and its contents outside. The bowl proceeded to melt and the grass died in a perfect circle about half a hand wide, and the apprentice quickly put up the remaining ingredients and disappeared. His master never did find out what happened to his bowl and missing ingredients, but believed the dark circle outside to be an act of nature and nothing his often misguided apprentice could have had a hand in. As for the apprentice, he learned a bit of respect for pretty purple potions with nice smells, yet still manages to concoct odd mixtures with whatever his master has let around. Category:Work in Progress